When there is nothing more to live for
by TypicalSherlockFan
Summary: Where are you looking to when the darkness haunts you? Who will be at your side when you fall? What will happen if you just let go? John and Sherlock as teens (18 ). No storyline in mind, just writing what I make up in my mind palace. Will contain angst, hurt, discomfort, (making) love, fluff, a purple shirt, a yelling detective and a protective John.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN:**__** I love "Sherlock" with all of my tiny heart and here is my story. So just let us begin, shall we..?**_

**Intro**

Small droplets of water hitting the window. A sharp breeze of wind blowing into his face. No traces of hard feelings or cold. Just pure determination.

Sherlock's fingers rested on the cool window while his breath hit the glass. He was starring outside, looking but not really seeing. Wishing but not hoping. His mind was blank but his eyes were transfixed on this one figure chasing a ball.

A few minutes ago the weather had turned into something quite ugly and it was starting to pour. But nonetheless John didn't care. He just saw the ball and his mind was set to get it into the goal right in front of him. He almost slipped a few times because the ground had become slippery and wet.

It was like watching a madman, adrenaline in form of a small man who seemed taller than the rest of his team and opponents.

Sherlock was fascinated. He didn't feel his black eye and the blood running down his hand. He just hold himself and watched, felt and his mind slowing down. A really rare occurrence.

John was ready to hit the ball when all of a sudden he was tackled by one of his teammates. It seemed that because of the heavy rain they couldn't know enemy from friend and he met a small puddle while missing the chance to score.

His teammate excused himself while John muttered profanities. It didn't matter anymore anyways. A few seconds later the game was called off due to the bad conditions and they had to leave the lawn unsatisfied. At least neither of both teams scored this afternoon.

Water was seeping its way into his eyes and he tried to blink it away, bringing his shirt up and starting to clean the mud off his face. All of a sudden he noticed the chilly breeze and how much he wanted a warm shower. Just being engulfed into warmness and hot steam.

Sherlock had seen enough. It was all enough. He had goosebumps and also the blood was dripping into the carpet and he knew he would get into trouble if this would be discovered. He was turning 18 in a few months but felt like a little child.

No one there to care, no one there to see. He was too emotional for his own good. Cutting off all of this nonsense would be the best thing to do and he just would go on like he always did. He was stronger than them. Mentally and sometimes physically but four against one was never a fair game to be played.

He went into his bathroom and cleaned himself up. His left eye stung and the pain in his hand was getting worse but he was used too much more evil than this. He would just go one and live his life even when there was nothing to live for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter one**

It was dinner time and everyone gathered in the big hall getting their food while chatting up with friends or doing some late homework.

John was sitting at the edge of the wooden bench and gorged his meal. He really didn't taste it, he just was so hungry that all was gone within a few minutes.

After the game he had been resting in the shower cabin a little bit longer than Paul, Mark and the rest of his mates. He just wanted to be alone and enjoy the good feeling of getting clean and warm.

Slowly he was getting really relaxed and tired. Being stuffed and comfortable he rested himself on the table and tried to keep his eyes open. Roaming the room and trying to find nothing in particular.

But of course his eyes landed on this one spot they normally landed on. Thick, curly hair. Its darkness contrasting the paleness of his face. His beautiful face. But today something was different. He had gotten himself into trouble. Again. An ugly black mark was masking his left eye and he wanted to know very badly who had inflicted it on him.

Sherlock was having a little bit of soup and tried not to make hasty movements because of his injured hand. He was sitting right to Molly who looked at him quite concerned but didn't say a word because she knew it wouldn't change a thing.

It hurt, his whole body hurt but he couldn't let it shown. He had to be strong even if it was the hardest thing to do.

John watched him aware that Mark caught him staring and was following his gaze.

"This Sherlock guy is always up to something." He mused while John just shrugged his shoulders but inside a storm started to brew. He had enough of it even if he didn't know Sherlock personally but he wanted to end this because of reasons.

Since a few months Sherlock had transferred to this college because his parents deemed it a better option and also money was not a problem. Sherlock didn't care back at that time. The place changed but the harassments stayed. He was just too different, too strange to look at. He didn't fit in and actually he also didn't care if they just would leave him alone.

Alone was what he had. Alone protected him from being hurt. Molly had been his partner in biology and they bonded over their slight affection for dead things. Other than her he hadn't make any effort to bond with anyone because where would be the sense in it?

It would just get complicated. Not only that his mind was rushing with hyper speed no he also preferred boys over girls. Just another thing to add to his list why he was picked on.

Normally he just noticed every little detail and could tell your whole life story or things you had done but actually didn't want anybody to know of. Why would anyone want to hear his observations anyways...

He huffed and looked up. Meeting blue, concerned eyes which didn't disappeared. Which stayed in line and unrelentingly met his gaze.

It was like the time was standing still and just these two existed. Sherlock felt a strong pull towards this unforgiving boy. Often he had been his only light of the day when he was down in the deeps.

John gulped and couldn't turn his head away. But all of a sudden he was brought back to reality when his mobile rang and he saw the callers ID. Probably it was because of Harry, his sister. She was constant trouble and their mother worried endlessly.

He chose to ignore the call and looked back to find these mesmerizing eyes but they were already gone.

Sherlock had made a dash as soon as this guy had looked down to see who was calling. Abruptly he had gotten up and mumbled an excuse to Molly who looked at him surprised.

He ran to his room and locked the door behind him. It was all too much. There were so many thoughts filling his head. These eyes… So pure, gentle but also hard and without any shame or fear. He was intrigued to say the least.

It hadn't been consciously but within the last weeks he had started to notice the sandy hair and not so tall figure. There was something about him he couldn't point out. A mystery he liked to solve. Nothing dull or boring about him. But he couldn't believe that they didn't share any class or he didn't know his name. He Sherlock Holmes missed something. And strangely it didn't worry him in the slightest but filled him with excitement.

Whatever it was it hold a promise of something more.

The sleepiness long forgotten John got up and walked over to the other side to bring back his tray. Ferguson was right behind him.

"John, you're up for some telly? It's Manchester vs. Liverpool. We also got some beer and stuff."

John shook his head and replied:

"Thanks mate but no. Not today, got some heavy homework to do and you know..?"

"Allright. See you around!" Ferguson said and left.

Normally John would always been up for such activities but not tonight. Nonetheless it was Thursday and Fridays were really mellow most of the times but he just couldn't shake off this feeling. He needed to know what had happened to Sherlock. Who had done this to him.

Firstly he wanted to talk to this girl next to Sherlock because it looked like they've known each other but unfortunately she had also left already and was nowhere to be seen. The girls' wing was on the other side of the building and there were a lot of options were she could have been. So he decided to go back to his room and enjoy some music and maybe really get some work done. Perhaps he could write something again. Hadn't done this in a long time and maybe it would help him to get sorted.

Sherlock took another pain killer and slumped down on his bed. He was bored but also quite busy within his mind palace. A bit overdramatic of course but that was just him.

Wouldn't he know it better he would grab his violin and torture it for quite a time but he was clever enough to rest his hand at least until tomorrow.

He wished for a talent like drawing. The picture of the boy with the sandy hair had burned itself into his memory and he wanted to capture it. Every little detail. Every freckle and line. Sherlock wanted to know how his face would change if he would be laughing or be ecstatic.

His heart started to pound and it seemed that all his blood decided to leave his head when all of a sudden he thought of the word _aroused_. How his eyes would be closed, mouth open with his name on his lips and a throaty moan when he was coming undone.

Sherlock's eyes went wide open when his brain was flooded with these images. He hadn't these kinds of thoughts for a long time. He simply didn't need them and his body could function without them quite well. But now it seemed like a monster had awoken and the tingly feeling of anticipation neared while he slowly reached into his trousers.

What if? Would he dare it? Touching himself and feel the pleasure. Feeding off these waves of lust and think about… About _him_?

John was glad that he was one of the lucky few who had gotten a single room. Actually he didn't mind company but on days like these he just wanted to be alone and didn't get bothered. He actually had made an effort and finished half of his homework before he just got lost in the rain pounding against the windows.

Again his thoughts drifted back to Sherlock. It was strange he never thought that he would be interested in a guy. Also he didn't really have a problem with it. Maybe because of Harry and her admission of being a lesbian two years ago.

But anyways he was quite sure of himself and didn't care of others opinions. Sooner or later they all would leave this school and head out to universities around the country or get a job. What did it matter then who he was into now.

Sherlock was a guy. A rather interesting-to-look-at guy to say the least. He wasn't picture perfect but it seemed that this was the alluring thing about him. Perfect was rather overrated anyways. John wanted to get his hands on these black curls the first time they walked in front of him. He wanted to get lost into those eyes of which he still wasn't sure if they were grey, blue or green. Maybe it depended on the light.

Also because he was not as tall as the other guys he liked that Sherlock was. He accepted his size a long time ago and it didn't bother him anymore if some of his mates joked about it. This was him and he also had way better qualities then this.

He leaned back into his chair and stretched while he nibbled on his pencil. It started to get dark and now he felt the sleepiness again coming at him with full force. John just wanted to get undress and sink into his soft bed.

Sherlock imagined soft fingers running over his skin and kisses being exchanged. He wanted no he needed to know how the other boy tasted and felt. He had this urgency which drove him to all of these racy thoughts. Sherlock wanted to bite, lick and blow. He wanted a kick and feel this high over and over again.

But he could just not reach it. Frustrated he pulled up his trousers again and starred at his periodic table taped on the wall. He knew all elements by heart and recited them as they were a poem.

All of a sudden a light knock hit his door and his ears tried to made out who it was but normally it could just mean one person.

"Sherlock? Sherlock are you there?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and got up lazily. Slowly he unlocked the door and opened it.

"Molly…" He said and went back sitting on his bed.

"Hey… What you're up to?" She asked him while closing the door and looking around his room, avoiding to look him straight into his face.

"Nothing really, just thinking I guess," he answered and knew that something was up. Molly was nervous and was almost biting her lip to death while finding an interesting spot on the wall.

"I was just wondering if you would like to do something? Maybe watch a movie or study together..."

Sherlock waved his hand in an annoyed motion and replied:

"Molly you know how I hate these rather obvious and dull activities which really make no sense at all to me. Why wasting my time watching a dense actor doing dense things. I rather watch paint dry."

Molly gulped and fidgeted with her hands.

"I mean just hang out. You know Sherlock that is what people do for having fun. It's not like a date or something."

Sherlock looked at her alarmed and got up. Carefully he rounded her and got into his thinking position.

"As I can see you tried to apply lipstick but thought of it otherwise. Your hand still has some red lines on it. Also you wear your hair differently and really you are trying to avoid my face. So my only conclusion can be that you came here with the purpose of asking me out for a date. Unfortunately you chose rather dull activities and I am busy with other things. So I like to decline."

She listened to him in horror and really wanted to disappear any second. It was quite embarrassing but she knew that Sherlock didn't see it that way. She knew that he wasn't a bad person at heart but she felt very disappointed nonetheless. Maybe he could have just spared one hour of his precious time.

Because she didn't know what else to do she turned around, said goodbye and couldn't get out of his room fast enough.

Sherlock didn't wonder but kept standing in the doorway and watched her flee.

Actually he didn't know if he did it on purpose or if it was just being himself. Again he had pushed someone away.

Why people and emotions were so difficult he just could not understand. And why they couldn't handle the truth or obvious things which he just liked to point out.

Maybe this was the reasons other guys like to push him into walls or beat him up. Was something wrong with him or was it his surroundings? Whatever it was it made life quite complicated.

Closing the door, locking it for safety reasons Sherlock decided to undress and just bore himself to death by watching some lame TV show.

Slowly he reached for the hem of his sweater and pulled it up. With that his undershirt also went unceremoniously on the ground. Following were his necktie and his black trousers. This night he opted to keep his pants on because it was still chilly. So he hid his slender body under the striped covers of his bed and turned on the telly.

John turned but couldn't find any sleep though he was dead tired. Always this face. It haunted him and made him queasy. Not in a bad way but like a foreboding it lingered in his mind. Sherlock beaten up. Maybe even severely hurt and damaged.

He knew that Sherlock was bullied from time to time. He had seen it when he didn't strut around like he was the King of England himself but limped.

John wanted to be a doctor in a few years time so he was more aware of things like that and also he had a big sense of justice and wanted to make the pain go away.

Also he did not wonder for the first time why Sherlock had no one to stand up for him. And it was bizarre that he felt this urge to protect him even if he never spoke a word to him or listened to his laughter.

Maybe one would call it fate or destiny. He wasn't sure of both. John just knew that a part of him already longed to belong to Sherlock assumed that he would like him too.

So many odds but he would fight them all because he just couldn't give up. Not yet when he hadn't even started to try.

After five minutes he switched on the TV and almost muted the sound. Set a timer for fifteen minutes and within no time his breath evened and he fell into a dreamless and comforting sleep.

Sherlock did not have this much luck. He felt like his brain turned into mush while watching so called reality TV what actually just was a bunch of girls and guys getting drunk, dancing while making and throwing up. Also he already knew who was having an affair with whom and who was secretly gay.

He threw away the remote and pushed the off button while he slumped down on the mattress. Why couldn't he just turn off his reeling mind and not be bothered anymore?

It was half past midnight when he still lay with eyes wide open and thinking about old cases he had solved even when the police hadn't been really fond of his help back at the time. But they missed every obvious fact. He just could not not help them.

He thought back to easier times. When his French nanny had sang a lullaby to soothe him and it had always worked. Quietly he started to remember the lines:

"_Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot__  
__Prête-moi ta plume, pour écrire un mot.__  
__Ma chandelle est morte, je n'ai plus de feu.__  
__Ouvre-moi ta porte, pour l'amour de Dieu._

_Au clair de la lune, Pierrot répondit :  
« Je n'ai pas de plume, je suis dans mon lit.  
Va chez la voisine, je crois qu'elle y est  
Car dans sa cuisine, on bat le briquet. »_

_Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot  
Prête-moi ta plume, pour écrire un mot.  
__Ma chandelle est morte, je n'ai plus de feu.  
Ouvre-moi ta porte, pour l'amour de Dieu._

_Au clair de la lune, on n'y voit qu'un peu.__  
__On chercha la plume, on chercha du feu.__  
__En cherchant d'la sorte je n'sais c'qu'on trouva.__  
__Mais je sais qu'la porte sur eux se ferma."_

_He almost whispered the last word and suppressed emotions which just lingered right beneath the surface. This song had not left his mouth for such a long time so that he was actually quite surprised that he still got every verse._

_Also it had made him much calmer and his eyes felt heavier than before. So he fell into a restless sleep. Trying to find blue eyes and sandy hair…_


End file.
